Book of Night(104)

Remy had always had whatever everyone else was having. But Vince didn’t have to act like Remy anymore.

The pumpkin beer had the virtue of being cheap. Unfortunately, in Vince’s opinion, that was its singular virtue. “I think I’ll try something else.”

While the bartender went through what they had on tap and Vince chose something at random, he noticed two gloamists walking in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them spread out, their gaze sweeping the room, trying to spot someone with the description Vince had given. He supposed that they were attempting to be subtle, allowing their shadows to seem dormant, but Vince clocked them immediately. There was an energy to them, a dark swirling at the edges, like smoke trickling out from hidden hot embers beneath char.

Knight Singh had promised to meet him alone. He’d lied. Which meant that Vince had very probably walked into a trap.

He’d chosen this place because it was crowded, and was glad of it now. There couldn’t be many other people in the room—if any—without shadows. But so long as he stayed part of the crush at the bar, what he was lacking wouldn’t be apparent.

Vince was glad he’d only described himself to Knight as “wearing a red scarf”—one which was still resting in his bag, waiting to be put on.

He turned to the woman standing beside him. If he was part of a conversation, he’d give the gloamists another reason to overlook him. Around his age, her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the room. She signaled to the bartender, who seemed to be aggressively ignoring her. Her licorice-black hair hung down her back and a tattoo of scarab beetles formed a collar just beneath her throat.

Across the room, one gloamist had positioned himself near the entrance, and another was standing in front of an empty booth. Knight must be on his way.

Vince raised his hand and somehow caught the bartender’s attention.

“I think she’d like a drink,” he said.

The woman flashed him a look he found hard to read.

“A gin and tonic,” she said. “The cheapest gin you have, with three limes.”

The bartender turned to Vince, and he realized that his second beer was half gone. He didn’t remember drinking it. He didn’t even remember if he’d liked it.

“Bourbon. Neat,” he said, dredging that up from a movie or something. When it came, he learned that “neat” meant without ice.

“I don’t usually order godawful drinks,” she told him, squeezing the first of the desiccated and slightly brown limes perched on the side of her glass.

“So tonight’s special,” he said.

That got him a quick smile. There and gone. And suddenly, Vince had the terrible certainty that he knew her. He couldn’t remember where, or under what circumstances, but they’d met before.

The crowd surged in and he put one hand against the bar to brace himself. “You grow up around here?” It was not a particularly clever question, but maybe her answer would help him place her.

The woman pushed back her mane of black hair and took a deep swallow of her drink, trying to avoid being shoved off the barstool by a guy on the other side of her. “Yeah, I’m a local. But I bet you’re not.”

He nodded, tailoring his story to her lead. “Only been in town a few months.”

She raised her eyebrows. “School?”

He shifted position so that he was standing between her and the press of people. Got an elbow in the back for his trouble. Shook his head. “Looking to make a change.”

“We’ve got a lot of asparagus.” She laughed at his puzzlement. “So much that they call it Hadley grass. There’s even a festival. And three different asparagus ice creams. That the kind of excitement you’re into?”

“Sounds about the level I can handle.” The funny thing was, it might as well have been true that he wasn’t local, for all he’d seen of the towns.

“I guess there’s an archery school. And a place where you can learn how to swing a broadsword.” There was a slight slur to her voice that made him wonder if the flush in her cheeks was as much from liquor as warmth.

“In case I want to slay a dragon.”

Her nails were ragged at the edges, the nail polish chipped from her biting them. “Do you?”

A quick glance showed him that Knight Singh had arrived. He sat in a booth at the far end of the room. Knight’s people had positioned themselves in strategic locations so that once they spotted Vince, they could close in and cut him off from the exits. He counted five.

Definitely a setup. Vince eyed the nearby fire door the crowd was trying to press him into.

“Want to slay dragons?” he echoed. “I don’t want to slay anything.”

The bartender walked by and dropped a receipt in front of her, and seemed about ready to ask Vince if he wanted another round.

She lifted it and eyed the guy. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “Your bill.”

“Maybe I wanted another drink,” she said, ground glass in her voice.

“So pay for the last one.” He wore an arrogant little smile, aware he ruled the bar.

She leaned toward him, her voice loud enough that people waiting for their drinks could hear her. “I’ve been sitting here watching you short pour the guests, give people the wrong change, use sour mix instead of lime juice, and wipe down the counters straight into the ice bin,” she told him, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handful of coins. “You’re going to burn in bartender hell.”